A Dark Forsaken Road
by Dragovian Knight
Summary: Dragon Quest VIII. Alternate universe, dark. Game spoilers. The party's attack on the Black Citadel ends in disaster, with one of their number lost.
1. A Lost and Wayward Soul

Author's Note: The first italicized section was given to me as a gift by Evil Miss Becky. She said, "Here's a new universe; knock yourself out." So I did. Title taken from the "Legend" track of Nox Arcana's _Darklore Manor_. Subtitles taken or paraphrased from various other pieces by Nox Arcana.

**Part One: A Lost and Wayward Soul**

_He had lost count of how many times he had been here, naked and cringing and praying that this time, maybe this time, would be the last._

_The Lord of Darkness laughed._

_He ducked his head, and the laughter grew louder. "You think you have any secrets from me, you pitiful fool?"_

_The glowing orb on the Dark Lord's staff touched his bent neck. He screamed in agony as the magical fire consumed him, burning him to ash while leaving him intact._

_All the better to start over with, as the Dark Lord promised._

_And Rhapthorne always kept his promises._

* * *

They had left him. 

It was the one thing Jessica couldn't get past, couldn't forgive.

They had left him.

They had thought Rhapthorne dead, fought their way past monsters maddened with the loss of their master as the Black Citadel crumbled around them, they'd _been outside_, damn it, they'd been _free_.

Then the ruined towers had risen into a stone giant, which, with a single blow, had swept Angelo off the walkway, into the rubble which spawned it.

Angelo hadn't had time to scream. She had.

They had fought, and won, and fled.

They had left him.

_She_ had left him, let them drag her back from the edge and force the transformation of the godbird's soulstone on her. She had believed when they'd said that even if Angelo had survived the fall, he couldn't have survived the towers collapsing back upon him.

They had landed back on the ship, and turned to watch the Black Citadel fall from the sky. But it hadn't fallen. It had shaken and convulsed, then slowly dragged itself back together, shattered stone re-forming, broken spires rising.

That was when they had known Rhapthorne was alive.

And in her heart, Jessica knew he had Angelo.

* * *

_He had been unmade and remade so many times he wasn't certain anything of his original self remained beyond fragments - names without faces, faces without names. Even those might have been imagination rather than memory._

_It mattered little. Neither memories nor imaginings were acceptable. They were distractions, diversions from his service to the Dark Lord._

_Rhapthorne's thoughts, slick and black, probed the places where memories once lived. He had no secrets from Rhapthorne; there were no secrets left for him to have._

_The staff touched him, unmade and remade, and a few more of those fragments vanished like smoke._

* * *

"Jessica." 

The sound of her name wasn't a surprise; it had become a nightly ritual for Eight to come coax or bully her away from her vantage point by the rail, convince her to eat and at least try to sleep. Tonight, his voice was ragged, and he sounded painfully tired, so that even distracted as Jessica was, she noticed.

A part of her felt sorry for him, but she didn't move from her place, or look away from the ominous black shape in the sky, even when his hand settled on her shoulder.

"Jess, you need to get some rest."

"He's up there." It hurt to talk; she hadn't had anything to eat or drink all day. "We left him up there, and Rhapthorne has him."

The hand tightened. "He couldn't have survived..."

Her temper flared at the over-used assurance, at the way he acted as if it might somehow comfort her to believe Angelo dead. "How many times has one of us _not survived_ a battle?" she demanded. "How can you even think that's an excuse for what we did?"

"It's not!" Eight exploded, and in that uncharacteristic display of temper Jessica saw, for the first time, what leaving Angelo behind had cost him. "But it's done and we can't change it."

She turned away. She had no comfort to give, just her own guilt and anger. "Yes, we can."

"Jessica."

"We know where he is. And we know we have to go back. Why are we waiting?"

The question was just to vent her frustration; she knew they still weren't ready, knew they needed more time to heal and re-arm and, Goddess help them, find some way to fight through the Citadel without the aid of Angelo's magic.

She didn't expect any answer, much less the one she got.

"We aren't."

* * *

_He owed Rhapthorne his life. His first memory was of his Lord demonstrating that fact by undoing his healing spells and leaving him broken and screaming in agony, unable even to beg for mercy. He had lain thus for hours, his blood slowly seeping out onto the tiles, staining the dark stone even darker._

_When his world was reduced to cold and darkness and the agonizing effort to draw one more breath, Rhapthorne healed him._

_He needed no further demonstrations. His life, his service, belonged to Rhapthorne. _

_And he would gladly do whatever the Lord of Darkness asked of him._

* * *

They didn't - couldn't - attack immediately. Nothing had changed; they still needed to recover from their last attempt, repair weapons and armor, stock up on the herbs and potions which, they knew, would be a poor substitute for Angelo's skills. But the passage of time now had a sense of purpose, and gave Jessica the distraction she desperately needed. 

She still found her gaze drawn to the sky, but the Black Citadel no longer held her for hours.

When they turned north to find a town and re-supply, it didn't feel like they were abandoning Angelo all over again.

* * *

_The dark fabric rested heavily against his hands, the weight almost enough to still their trembling._

_It took him a moment to recognize what he held._

_A uniform._

_The sudden familiarity carried with it voices, disembodied, stripped of meaning and identity. For a heartbeat, he strained after them: cool tones, clipped with impatience; a softer, friendlier voice; a woman's voice, as impatient as the first, but backed by fire instead of ice._

_"I trust it meets your approval, my knight."_

_He looked up at Rhapthorne's voice, the other voices forgotten. "Forgive me, my Lord. It is..." His fingers tightened. "Perfect."_


	2. Dare Trespass

As soon as they set foot on the Black Citadel, it was obvious Rhapthorne had not been able to fully restore his fortress. Stone walkways, already broken and cracked during their first visit, now sported crumbling gaps, while the towers leaned and swayed drunkenly. Even the monsters they encountered showed the effects, less numerous, slower, weaker.

It was, Eight thought bitterly after their second battle, the only thing keeping them alive.

He finished pouring amor seco essence over the bloody gash on Jessica's arm, watched the wound stop bleeding but not close, and resisted a sigh as he reached for another precious vial. Their healing supplies were not going to last, and he had no choice but to save his magic in case one of them got killed.

Jessica stopped him before he broke the seal. "Don't waste it," she said. She tested the arm cautiously, and the bleeding didn't resume. "I can fight like this."

He offered her a smile - he should have realized she'd be as aware of their limited supplies as he was - and turned to Yangus.

The bandit wiped away a trickle of blood where a demon's spear had gone through his shield and reached his shoulder. "Don't need no doctorin' yet, guv." He lifted his axe. "Now come on. Shouldn't keep ol' Rhappy waiting."

They had to find their way through the mazelike castle all over again, picking their way through rubble, backtracking from shattered stairways.

They finally reached the doorway through which they'd escaped last time. Jessica went pale, her gaze going immediately to the pit of shattered stones where Angelo had fallen. Eight and Yangus both reached for her, but she shook them off and went fearlessly to the very edge of the crumbling walkway.

For a very long time, she looked down. She was silent, though her shoulders shook as if with tears. Neither man dared approach her.

When she turned around, red-eyed and grim, they didn't speak or question. They simply followed her through the scarred wooden door and into the heart of Rhapthorne's lair.

* * *

_Daily, he stood guard by Rhapthorne's throne. Such a thing should not have been necessary, but there were spells which required all of Rhapthorne's concentration, or all of his strength, and there were those who would dare assault him even here, in the heart of his realm._

_He feared, sometimes, that he would fail his Lord, regretted that he needed food and sleep, that he could not be as tireless as the sentinels too-slowly repopulating the castle._

_But Rhapthorne would not have saved him, given him this position, if he could not fulfill it. As any who challenged him would learn._

* * *

None of them spoke until they reached the Spiral City, and saw that the four statues had been reduced to three.

"Oy, guv," Yangus said, his lowered voice still managing to bounce off the stones around them, making Eight flinch. "This place is tellin' wot the future'll be or somefin, right? So then, if Angelo's statue is gone, don't that mean..."

"It doesn't mean anything," Eight snapped. He didn't know or care if the Spiral City truly showed them a past in which their fight had been prophesied, or led them into a twisted future, or if it was all illusion. "This doesn't mean any more than the four statues did the first time we came."

"Yeah, but..."

"We haven't time for this," Jessica snapped. She crossed the corridor to the inscription on the far side and stood, waiting for them rather than touching the dark stone.

Eight looked at Yangus, then followed, climbing the stairs slowly. As he had known it would be, the inscription was different.

_The three statues represent the three pilgrims who will journey under a cloud of loss and despair._

He glared at the words, glad Jessica didn't seem to have read them. They had suffered losses, yes, but none of them had ever given into despair.

_Until we lost Angelo_.

He ignored the unbidden thought, and placed his hand on the magical seal.

* * *

_"It is time, my knight."_

_He looked at the Lord of Darkness, who leaned forward on his throne, an expression of - expectation? - sharpening his features._

_"They come."_

_Anticipation surged through him. His Lord's enemies were coming, as Rhapthorne had known they would. **This** was why he lived, why he took his post daily beside Rhapthorne's throne. This was his opportunity to repay, in small part, everything his Lord had done for him._

_"You will serve me well."_

_He bowed his head. "I will serve you," he brushed his hand against the hilt of his sword, "with my life."_

* * *

The magical seal flared to life under Eight's hand. Just as it had the first time they entered the city, it healed them, restored their own magic, even repaired the rents and damage to their weapons and armor.

Eight smiled with relief. He'd been half afraid it wouldn't work, that the magic had been exhausted before, or that Rhapthorne had realized what the seal did and destroyed it, that they would be trapped, too weakened to face Rhapthorne, too weakened - or too stubborn - to escape.

They had a chance.

He turned around to look at the others. Yangus was frowning and shifting nervously, and Jessica stood with her head bowed, the hands over her face in no way concealing her tears.

She hadn't cried since those first few minutes on the ship, when they'd returned without Angelo. The sight now gave him a sick feeling of dread.

"Jess?"

"He wasn't there," she whispered. "In the pit. I could... I could see where he'd fallen... so much blood... the stones didn't cover it, weren't near it." She looked up, her gaze going to the statues - no, to the gap where one statue was missing. "The dust must have kept us from seeing him when it happened, but today... I could see all the blood where he'd been, and he _wasn't there_."

Eight swallowed hard, the dread giving way to literal sickness. He hated to think Angelo dead, but truly believed the Templar lost to them, crushed under tons of fallen rock. As much as the idea hurt, as much as the imagined image had tormented his dreams, it was preferable to Jessica's belief that Angelo lived, in Rhapthorne's hands.

For the first time, he suspected that she had looked down into the pit hoping to refute those fears, not confirm them.

_Goddess, if she's right...if Rhapthorne has him, has had him all these days..._

He couldn't bear to think of what they might find, if they did find Angelo, and he wouldn't consider _not_ finding Angelo, if there was any chance he was still alive.

Silently, he took Jessica's hands, cold and still damp with her tears. "We will find him," he vowed, and fresh tears streaked her cheeks. "If we have to take this place apart stone by stone, we aren't leaving him behind again."


	3. Realm of Lost Souls

_"Be ready," Rhapthorne said._

_The throne room trembled slightly, the floor to either side vanishing, replaced by lakes of fire. Their attackers would have no choice but to approach head-on along the narrow bridge of stone which remained._

_No choice but to face **him**._

_He left his place beside the throne and strode out to the narrowest point, midway between the door and his Lord. The flames on either side had already made the room oppressively hot, the air hard to breathe, but he could not let such minor annoyances distract or deter him._

_He drew his sword, and waited._

* * *

The closer they drew to Rhapthorne's throne room, the less obvious the damage to the Black Citadel became. It would have been eerie, had she not been so aware it was Yangus behind her, rather than Angelo. 

"Rhapthorne's the only one who's going to know where Angelo is. If Angelo was important enough for him to take prisoner, he might even be keeping him near the throne room." Eight had sounded confident, but she had seen the worry in his eyes, and his expression had been grim when he'd said, "If nothing else, the easiest way to take this place apart is to kill Rhapthorne."

It wasn't as if they had much choice. Too much of the Black Citadel had been rendered inaccessible, even if they'd had the time and energy to search top to bottom. Rhapthorne was their only hope.

Outside of the massive doors to the throne room, they stopped, and Eight used some of his carefully hoarded magic to heal them all. "Everyone ready?"

Yangus grinned. "Born ready, guv."

Jessica simply nodded.

Eight threw his shoulder against one of the doors, while Yangus took the other. With a shriek of misaligned hinges, the doors slowly slid open.

The throne room, like the rooms immediately before it, was nearly the same as the last time they had been there, a narrow path to the throne illuminated by a solid floor of flame below, the air oppressively hot, shifting and shimmering and making visibility less certain than the brightness of the room would indicate. Rhapthorne sat on the throne and watched them, a sneer on his inhuman face.

Indeed, the only immediately obvious difference was the dark figure blocking their way to the throne.

At first, through the heat-distorted air, she mistook it for a new variety of shadow, then she realized it was a man, standing motionless, his clothing, gloves and boots the same light-swallowing black as the short cape he wore. Even the sword he carried was black, a slender, curved blade that spilled its darkness like poisonous smoke.

Yangus's hands tightened on his axe. "Want me t'take care of 'im?"

Eight shook his head and drew his sword. "Stay to the back. If this is a trap, we'll need you to take care of anything Rhapthorne has come up behind us."

He strode confidently forward, Jessica following a few feet behind. The path was too narrow for them to do anything but walk single-file; her first sign that something was wrong was the choked sound Eight made as he abruptly stopped.

"Guv, you all right?" Yangus demanded, and didn't - quite - shove past her to reach Eight. "Cor blimey!"

Jessica leaned sideways to see around the men, and went cold in spite of the heat from the flames below.

Angelo stood facing them, still motionless, though he had lowered the sword - _Dear Goddess, that was the Shamshir of Light_ - so that the point was leveled at Eight's heart. His hair was loose, partially concealing his face, but even so she could see there was no recognition in his expression.

"You are not welcome here. If you turn around now, you may survive long enough to leave."

"Angelo." In contrast to Angelo's detached tone, Eight sounded like he couldn't get enough air; he had dropped his sword until the tip nearly brushed the floor. "Angelo, what are you doing?"

"This any way t' go treatin' your friends?" Yangus demanded.

Angelo's lips curved into an ugly smile. "I have no friends. And if I did, they certainly wouldn't be the enemies of Lord Rhapthorne."

"Angelo, it's us," Jessica pleaded. She tried to go to him, but Yangus shifted, refusing to let her pass. "You have to recognize us."

His gaze flicked to her, and dismissed her. "I grow tired of this," he said, his gaze once more on Eight. "Either leave immediately, or _try_ to get past me."

Eight's sword came up, and though Angelo didn't seem to move, his stance suddenly went from dismissive to deadly. "Please don't make me do this," Eight said softly.

"You've made your choice," Angelo said, and attacked.

Yangus caught her arm, propelling her back, out of the way, as Eight and Angelo's swords clashed together. She heard him chanting one of his few spells under his breath, a defensive spell to ward against enemy blows, and hastily cast a spell of her own to increase the strength of Eight's attacks, a second to make him just a little quicker, better able to match Angelo's speed.

After that, all they could do was watch, and pray.

* * *

_His opponent was quite skilled, and determined to maneuver their fight so that the fat man and the woman would be at his back, able to attack him._

_He, of course, was better, faster, his blade nothing but a blur of shadow and trail of smoke as he blocked, thrust, went on the attack again. The heat shimmered in the air, gluing his hair to his face and neck, making his opponent pant and, at last, falter._

_He moved for the opening, and found his sword deflected by magic._

_The other's blade was oddly cold as it slid into him._

* * *

Jessica nearly held her breath as Eight and Angelo fought. Even with the aid of magic, they weren't quite evenly matched; Eight was stronger, and his sword had the benefit of length, but his fighting style was more straightforward. Angelo was faster, more cunning, and used his speed and the lack of maneuvering room to rob Eight of the advantages of strength and reach. 

He was also quite unhindered by the fact he was facing a friend.

Periodically, she would tear her eyes away from the fight to look at Rhapthorne, but he seemed disinclined to interfere. Indeed, he watched avidly, as one might watch a monster arena battle, and she'd swear the expression twisting his inhuman features was one of amusement.

Movement, something her mind identified as wrong even caught from the corner of her eye, drew her attention back to the fight in time to see Angelo strike at an opening in Eight's guard. She cried out, even as the blade was deflected by the spells Yangus had wrapped around Eight at the start of the fight.

Off-balance and desperate, Eight brought his sword back up in a two handed blow before Angelo could recover. Steel bit into Angelo's arm, then continued upward in an arc that buried the blade deep between Angelo's ribs, revealing he was protected by neither armor nor magic.

Angelo shuddered; his face, which had been flushed with exertion, went white and blank with shock. The Shamshir began to slip from his fingers; his hand convulsed, held stubbornly on to the blade, though he clearly didn't have the strength to raise it again.

Eight caught him when he collapsed, and lowered him carefully to the stone floor. For a moment, Angelo gasped for breath; one of Eight's hands closed around Angelo's arm, just above the wound, while the other settled on Angelo's shoulder, and Jessica could tell Eight's every instinct - like her own - demanded he do something.

Then the moment passed, and Eight shoved himself to his feet, face set. "We have a time limit now. Jessica, cast bounce on the body; I don't want to risk Rhapthorne doing anything to him."

"Guv, we're just..."

"We finish this. And when we leave, we take him with us. So let's not waste time."

His voice was harsh, almost unrecognizable, and Jessica hastened to obey him. They couldn't protect Angelo, not really, but they could prevent Rhapthorne from bringing him back as their enemy, and, hopefully, from destroying his body from spite.

She just prayed they could be fast enough for it to matter.

* * *

_This is wrong._

Rhapthorne didn't look angry or worried, despite Angelo's defeat. He wasn't raising defenses or preemptively attacking. He wasn't calling on his monsters to block their retreat. He was just...waiting.

_We aren't a threat,_ Eight thought, in the few moments it took them to cross the remaining length of the throne room. _Why aren't we a threat?_

Behind and to his left, he heard Jessica casting one of her strongest spells, and nearly called her off, fearing Rhapthorne had some new defense against their magic. But the rain of fire struck cleanly, not deflected, not even slowed by a magic barrier.

And Rhapthorne laughed.

"You think you can defeat me?" he demanded, raising his staff. "You three? You do not know what you face!"

No more time for thought, just attack and defend, steel and magic and a part of his mind always tracking the others, trying to fill the role Angelo had made seem nearly effortless. A role he couldn't fill, his magic slipping away too quickly, his spells not strong enough, Jessica barely healed before a fresh attack dropped her back to her knees, Yangus bellowing in pain and rage as his axe fell from a shattered and useless hand, and he snatched his boomerang from his belt and threw it, desperate to buy a few seconds to heal one of them and pray they could provide a distraction while he healed the other.

Somehow, the metalwing flashed past Rhapthorne's attempt to deflect it and sliced deep into his neck.

A heartbeat of silence before Rhapthorne howled in fury and hurled the boomerang to the ground, shattering it with his staff. Time for Yangus to scoop up his axe and charge, time for Jessica to cast a spell from where she lay, her magic wrapping around Yangus so that when the axe came down, it was very, very final.

Then, just as the first time they had won this battle, all hell broke loose.

* * *

The castle trembled, stone rained, dust choked the air. They broke into a run, pausing only long enough for Yangus to hoist Angelo's body over his shoulders. 

Angelo's hand had stiffened around the corrupted Shamshir of Light, dragging it along when he was lifted.

_No,_ Jessica begged. _Dear Goddess, no, it can't have been that long, we can't be too late. Don't take him from me again._

She didn't look at Eight; she didn't want to see the truth in his eyes. Instead she begged silently, while they ran, while they fought the handful of monsters they encountered, the desperate litany taking the place of the tears she couldn't afford to shed.

And then they were outside, in the very spot where Angelo had been taken from them, the godbird's soulstone in Eight's hands almost before they had cleared the doorway. Magic flared and wrapped around them, changing, joining, until the godbird's borrowed form lifted them in a blaze of light.

They soared up through the clouds which had cloaked the Black Citadel, the darkness thinning and tattering before their wings as the magic which had created it failed. They had won, and she didn't, couldn't, care, because joined this way she could feel the warmth of Eight and Yangus, and the cold void where Angelo should be.

Joined this way, she still couldn't weep.

Without warning, the world exploded around them, chunks of stone and bits of stray magic battering their borrowed form. Wings struggled against turbulent air, vainly trying to maneuver, to escape the Citadel's final destruction. Jessica wondered if the problem was Angelo, if his lifeless body was somehow weakening the soul of the young godbird, crippling its ability to dodge the hail of debris.

And then it didn't matter, because something hit them, brutally tore the transformation away, and they were four separate and equally helpless figures falling toward the sea.


	4. Holding On To Nothing

He hit something hard, hard enough to hurt, hard enough to stun. For a moment, Eight confusedly thought he'd somehow hit the ground and survived, then he realized the air rushing past hadn't abated, and the surface beneath him was warm and covered with feathers.

"Empyrea?"

"When I felt the barrier between the worlds weaken, I suspected you would need my help." She banked, and he grabbed dizzily at the feathers beneath his hands, even though he suspected he was in no danger of falling. "I am sorry to find things worse than I feared."

"Wotcher mean?" Yangus demanded. "We beat ol' Rhapthorne, didn't we?"

"You vanquished the form in which he was imprisoned," Empyrea corrected, and Eight felt a sinking feeling that had nothing to do with their flight. "I fear he still has power enough to take on his true form."

"Are you saying we went through all that for nothing?" Jessica demanded.

Eight couldn't decide if her voice was closer to fury or hysteria; either way, it wasn't good, and he worked his way carefully to where she knelt beside Angelo's body and covered her hand with his own.

"You have bought yourself time. Rhapthorne would have ultimately taken on this form without your interference. By forcing him into it prematurely, you _have_ weakened him, and delayed his reaching full strength."

"Delayed it by how long?" Eight asked.

"A fortnight, perhaps. A few weeks, at most. Hang on."

The warning was barely in time, as she pulled up to settle on the deck of the ship and nearly unseated them. Angelo slipped from Jessica's grip, reminding Eight that Rhapthorne wasn't what they had to worry about right now, making his mind race to determine how long they'd fought Rhapthorne, how long it had taken them to get outside, how long it had taken them to land.

He didn't know, and every passing moment might be the one that would make his attempt at resurrection too late.

"Yangus, help me with Angelo," he ordered, because no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn't simply cast the spell, not with Angelo armed. He could wake disoriented - _if he wakes, Goddess, please let him wake _- or still under Rhapthorne's control, and either could be a disaster.

It was hard, though, hard to take the time to maneuver Angelo's body to Empyrea's side, hard to lower him into Yangus's waiting arms. Harder to order Yangus to restrain him before finally uttering the words that might bring Angelo back to them.

The spell settled over Angelo's body, and for a moment it seemed nothing happened. Then his wounds began to bleed, just for the few seconds it took the spell to heal them, and he drew a shuddering breath. Blue eyes blinked open, flicking around in confusion.

Eight had just enough time for a silent thanks to the Goddess before Angelo lashed out, going for Yangus's face with his right hand even as he flung himself against the bandit's grip. Yangus fell backwards with a curse; free, Angelo was on his feet and moving toward Jessica before any of them could react.

It was over before King Trode could finish demanding to know what was going on. A spell from Jessica and Angelo collapsed, asleep, practically on top of her, his grip on the Shamshir finally loosening enough for Eight to pull it away. Just touching the blackened sword made Eight's skin crawl; he wanted to toss it overboard, but refrained, knowing it was - had been - a powerful weapon, and hoping they could do something to restore it.

Still, he couldn't bring himself to hold it, and took the time to deposit it in the main cabin before taking charge of things.

"What has happened?" Empyrea demanded when he returned; she sounded as upset as he'd ever heard her.

"Yes, that's what I'd like to know," Trode said.

"Rhapthorne captured Angelo," Eight explained. "I don't know what he did, but...when we got to Rhapthorne, Angelo was defending him, and didn't seem to recognize us. I'd hoped, once we got him away from the Black Citadel..." He sighed. "But it looks like we're going to have to go after Rhapthorne with just the three of us."

"You must not." Empyrea flared her wings slightly. "To defeat Rhapthorne's true form, you must have the strength to break the barrier protecting him. I am not entirely certain the four of you will be able to do it; I know you cannot do it with only three."

Eight stared at her. _Is that why we weren't a threat? Because Rhapthorne knew we'd be helpless with Angelo dead, no matter how the battle turned out?_

"How do we break this barrier?" Jessica asked. In spite of everything, she was beside Angelo, much as she had been on the flight to the ship.

Empyrea spread her wings fully. "I will explain when I return. Until then, you must do everything in your power to free your friend from Rhapthorne's control. The fate of the world depends on it."

She launched herself skyward, the rush of wind from her wings effectively preventing further questions.

"Hmph. That wasn't terribly enlightening," Trode grumbled as they watched the godbird vanish into the distance.

"As if we wouldn't do whatever it takes to get Angelo back."

"It may not be easy, though, Jess." Eight stared at Angelo's motionless form. "We're going to have to restrain him, somehow, before he wakes up."

"You aren't serious!"

"He's not in his right mind, and you can't keep him asleep around the clock." Eight moved closer to her, his voice dropping. "We have to do something until we can reach him."

"The guv's right. For 'is own good, an' all." Yangus scratched his head. "Seems I recall findin' a bit of chain back when I was first explorin' about the ship. An' there's plenty of empty space t' put him."

Jessica was on her feet, hands clenched at her sides. "You're going to treat him like a prisoner?"

"He is a prisoner," Eight said. His gaze locked with hers until she looked down; her capitulation didn't make him feel any less like a traitor. "As long as he's under Rhapthorne's control, he has to be."

* * *

_He woke, not in a proper cell, but a windowless room, his wrists shackled and joined - to each other, to the wall - by chains which were far too long to truly restrain him._

_Humiliating, to have been captured by people who were obviously incompetent._

_"Angelo."_

_He sat up; the woman - a mage, he remembered from his escape attempt - was watching him from the far corner of the room._

_"You don't remember us at all?"_

_He saw no harm in the truth. "You attacked my Lord, and I obviously failed to stop you."_

_"Nothing from before?"_

_Silently, he shook his head._

* * *

Jessica sat silent for a few minutes, her gaze never leaving Angelo. He stared back, wary and perhaps just a bit angry.

"I'm sorry," she said finally. "I didn't want them to chain you."

No reaction; she supposed, if she were chained up, she wouldn't be interested in chatting with her jailer, either.

"You don't belong with Rhapthorne, you know."

_That_ got a reaction, a flash of anger and an abrupt lift of his chin - _wounded pride_ - and he almost retorted before getting himself under control. Jessica saw her mistake at once. The fierce loyalty which had kept Angelo with them despite his complaints, which had led him to save his ingrate brother, had been given to - _stolen by_ - Rhapthorne. She'd accomplish nothing if she set herself at odds with it.

She could only hope to sway some of that loyalty back to them, and perhaps, help him remember.

* * *

_"You were our friend." A pause. "You **are** our friend."_

_They had expected recognition when he faced them in the throne room, he remembered. Perhaps they had once served Rhapthorne; if so, they were traitors, not just enemies, and he would be doubly glad to rid the world of them._

_She was still speaking, trying to coax forth memories which didn't exist. He remembered nothing before Rhapthorne's mercy in healing him, nor did he wish to._

_He hid his skepticism over her improbable tales, urged her to continue with interested glances, and learned more than she realized she was telling._

* * *

By the third day, Jessica realized she was wasting her time. Angelo never spoke to her, and when he showed interest in what she was saying it was distant, as if she were a minstrel spinning entertainment.

She spent that night crying in Eight's arms.

"You don't have to keep doing this, Jess," Eight said the next morning, watching her with worried eyes. "We'll think of something else. Empyrea has to come back soon; maybe she'll have some ideas."

"I'm not abandoning him again."

It was hard, though, when Angelo noted her disheveled appearance not with concern or even interest, but merely a raised brow, as if she were a curiosity put on display. More than once, she found herself falling silent before his dispassionate gaze, or fighting tears as she compared the brash, sometimes trying Templar of her memories to the detached prisoner before her.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, forcing a smile. It was much earlier than she normally left him, but she couldn't bear the silence, or the sound of her own voice, any longer. "I'm afraid I'm not very good company today. But I'll be back tomorrow, of course."

She thought he nodded, but the movement was too slight for her to be sure.

* * *

_The woman came daily, bringing food and talking to him for hours, or bringing food and heated water, and giving him the privacy to wash. One day, she apologized for not being able to bring him clean clothing._

_The next, all three of them came to his cell. His first thought was that they had wearied of waiting for the woman's methods to bear fruit, but the men merely stood guard while he washed and changed from his bloodied, filthy uniform into a well-worn linen shirt and trousers._

_He knew their kindness was manipulation, and tried not to feel gratitude._


	5. Darkness Dwells

Eight liked grooming Medea. Mindless as it was, he could still focus on it and push his worries - about Angelo, and Jessica, and the growing black stain spreading across the reddened sky - to the back of his mind.

He didn't have any ideas. As far as they had come, as hard as they had fought, the world was going to be lost because he didn't have any ideas.

Medea whickered, nudging him with her nose, and he realized he'd stopped brushing, lost in thought.

"Sorry," he said with a smile.

She snorted and shook her mane; he suspected she was laughing at him, until she raised her head to look skyward.

There he saw Empyrea flying toward them, faintly luminous against a darkness the newly-risen sun couldn't penetrate. He felt a surge of relief and hurried off to gather the others; they returned to the deck just in time for Empyrea to land in a rush of wind.

"Rhapthorne's power is growing more quickly than I feared," she said. "Are you prepared to face him?"

Eight raised his head. "The three of us are."

"Rhapthorne's control of your friend is so complete?"

Something in her tone smacked of accusation, though Eight couldn't decide if she was finding fault with Angelo for succumbing, or them for not being able to reach him, or perhaps for leaving him in the first place. He felt a surge of anger and guilt, but it was Jessica who snapped, "If you have any ideas, we'd love to hear them."

Empyrea didn't answer, and Eight's last hope - that Empyrea, older and wiser and more powerful than any of them, would have some solution - was dashed. "We'll fight without him," he said. "We've beaten Rhapthorne before with just the three of us, and you said he was weakened by having to change forms too soon. Just tell us what we need to do."

"The three of you cannot hope..."

"Then we'll find someone else!" Eight exploded. "We'll gather as many people as we can, as we need to. Just tell us how to stop this!"

There was a clatter of wood on wood, and Rhapthorne's sceptre, released from Empyrea's taloned foot, rolled across the deck toward them. Yangus shouted and jumped back, while Trode exhorted them all to be careful, and even Jessica flinched and took a step away.

Eight watched the carved wood roll to a stop, then raised his eyes to Empyrea again.

"You could gather an army, and it would not help," Empyrea said softly.

"I don't understand."

"Now that Rhapthorne is no longer imprisoned within, the Godbird Sceptre houses only the souls of the seven sages. Only they can break through the barrier which protects him. But without an outside will to summon them, they are trapped far more surely than Rhapthorne was. You do not need merely force of arms, or magic. You need force of will, and no one who has not fought and bled and _hungered _for Rhapthorne's defeat can be of any use to you now. "

She looked from one to another, and to Eight her words sounded like a pronouncement of doom. "You must find a way to reach your friend."

* * *

_He was not surprised when the woman arrived later than was usual for her. He had heard the commotion above, and wondered if she, or anyone, would bother with him at all._

_He was surprised by the relief - not pleasure, he refused to be **pleased** to see his captors - he felt when she finally appeared silhouetted in the doorway._

_It troubled him, just as the occasional urge to respond to her overtures troubled him. He had not expected to have difficulty remembering they were his enemies. _

_But then, he could not have expected them to treat him as a friend._

* * *

Rationally, Jessica knew Empyrea had only told them what they needed to know, but still the words felt like an indictment. They had failed Angelo, not once, but twice, just as they had failed so many others in their pursuit of Dhoulmagus, and then of Rhapthorne. 

_She_ had failed. Never mind that she had been the only one to try, she had still failed.

It was tempting to give Angelo his meal and leave him in peace, tempting to acknowledge that nothing she could say would reach him, that he didn't see _her_, but only a stranger. So tempting that after she slid the tray toward him, she turned toward the door.

Only she couldn't. She may have failed, but she wasn't going to compound that failure by quitting.

Swallowing hard, she moved to her stool in the corner of the room, and began talking.

* * *

_She was distracted, as she had been the past few days, but now there was something else in her eyes and voice, something which made her words trail into silence. Something which made her avoid looking at him._

_That last didn't bother him, though it was unusual, and enough to make him uneasy; normally, she studied him as carefully as he studied her. Today, she did her best to keep her gaze on the walls, the floor; when it did stray to him, her voice would catch and shake, while the lamplight revealed the glimmer of tears on her cheeks._

* * *

"Are you all right?" 

Jessica broke off in mid-sentence, turning to Angelo in shock. "What?"

"I'm sorry. I know it's not my place, but..." He glanced away with a reticent expression which was wholly unlike him, yet infinitely better than the passivity she'd met for the past week. "You look like you'd be better off with your friends, than spending the day with me."

"No, I'm fine." She tried to quell her rising excitement. "In fact, if you could remember me, you'd know how much I like spending time with you." A smile escaped before she could stop it. "Or maybe you wouldn't. I have to admit we probably argue more than we do anything else."

An answering smile, still not _his_, but a smile nonetheless. "And yet, you're here."

"Of course I am. I couldn't be anywhere else."

* * *

_Caught up in both her words and her smile, he didn't know how much time had passed, how long she'd been incautiously near him, her guard down. The realization horrified him; he struck without thinking, caring only that this was a chance he might not get again, an escape from their tricks and honeyed words. _

_He pinned her against him before she could utter more than a startled cry which spooked the horse, but drew no other response._

_She tried to speak; mindful of her magic, he looped the chain of his shackles around her throat and pulled, silencing her._

* * *

The suddenness of Angelo's attack caught her off guard, delayed her reaction for the few crucial seconds he needed. Even then, she wasn't helpless; she knew ample spells she could cast without speaking, a fact Angelo had clearly forgotten along with everything else. 

But she couldn't make herself use them, not yet.

"Angelo." Even producing a shadow of a whisper hurt; she forced the words out anyway, determined to reach him. "Please. You're our friend."

He didn't answer, but the chain pressed just a bit harder, confirming he could hear her. Her eyes filled with tears, that he'd reverted to his stubborn silence.

"What I told you..."

He jerked slightly, and the chain pulled too tight before he recovered and eased it. "No more lies."

"Not lies." She was lightheaded and beginning to shake, and she needed him to listen, to believe, because soon she'd have no choice but to use magic against him. "You matter too much for me to lie to you."

The pressure eased, just a fraction, and she wondered if he even realized he'd done it as she waited for him to respond.

* * *

_She trembled, breath quick and short with terror and the pressure against her throat. "Let me go," he whispered in her ear. "I don't want to hurt you."_

_"I can't." The words were nearly soundless, but he was pressed against her like a lover, and he heard. "I haven't got the key."_

_Truth or lie, it mattered little; he would not get another opportunity. She undoubtedly carried something he could use, be it a blade or a hairpin, and he couldn't afford to let her warn the others of his betrayal._

_He shortened the chain between his hands, and pulled._

* * *

The frantic screams of a horse brought Eight on deck at a run, his sword drawn in anticipation of a monster attack. He saw nothing but Medea, though, her hooves tapping nervously at the deck, her neck extended toward the steps leading down to the cargo hold. 

"Wot's happenin'?" Yangus demanded; he still had a mouthful of food, and half a loaf of bread in one hand. "Wot's wrong wif the 'orse-princess?"

"I don't know." Eight sheathed the sword and went to Medea's side, trying to calm her. "There has to be..."

Without warning, her head whipped around and she bit him, teeth scraping over skin before closing on his loose sleeve and yanking. He stumbled, from shock as much as the sudden tug, and she shoved him with her nose, hard enough that he would have fallen down the ladder if Yangus hadn't caught him at the last moment.

"What are you ruffians doing to upset my precious daughter?" King Trode demanded, hurrying up. "There, there, Medea, daddy's h..."

Medea stamped a hoof and backed away from his attempt to touch her, then let out another ear-splitting whinny and swiveled her head back toward the hold.

_Angelo_. The storeroom they had turned into a makeshift cell was practically at the bottom of the ladder; Medea's sharp equine hearing could have picked up sounds none of the rest of them would have noticed.

A chill swept through him when he realized Jessica hadn't joined in checking on Medea.

"Something's wrong," he said, and was down the ladder before Yangus could ask what, or Trode could point out that of course something was wrong. Lantern light spilled from beneath the door - not that that meant anything, they weren't monsters, to keep Angelo trapped in darkness - but the knob turned at his touch, the door swinging easily open.

Eight shouted in horror as he took in the scene before him, the chain binding Angelo's manacles looped around Jessica's throat, the desperate, almost mad look on Angelo's face. He was knocked aside before he could draw his sword by Yangus, who charged into Angelo without slowing. Angelo's head bounced off the wall as he was driven back, then again when Yangus's meaty fist slammed into his face.

Yangus dragged him forward; bone snapped as the bandit roughly released the chain from around Jessica's throat.

The dull thump of Jessica's body hitting the floor drew Eight back to what was going on. "Don't kill him," he shouted, nearly choking on the words. Yangus ignored him, punch after punch pinning Angelo against the wall. "Yangus, don't! We still need him!"

"After wot he's done..." Yangus had his hand fisted in the front of Angelo's shirt, keeping him from collapsing, but the waiting blow didn't fall.

"We need him," Eight repeated.

"We need Jessica, too," Yangus protested, giving Angelo a shake.

"I can bring her back, you know that." He gathered Jessica into his arms, praying he was speaking the truth. "Just...leave him."

He turned toward the door, an ache in his chest, and pretended not to hear the sound of Yangus's fist striking Angelo one final time.

* * *

_He lay in the dark, unable to see, barely able to breathe, and let the pain consume him. Far better, that, than to contemplate his failure._

_The door opened; the footsteps told him it was their leader who entered and stood so silent that his arrival might have been mere hallucination._

_A healing spell finally confirmed the leader's presence, so much hatred behind the incantation that he was surprised it didn't twist into something else and strike him dead._

_Silence again, but now he could see the glare leveled at him._

She's dead_, he thought._

_"She's alive," the leader said. _

* * *

"You think it's hopeless, don't you?" In spite of his healing spells, Jessica's voice was still low and rough, and Eight thought it must hurt her to talk; she'd certainly been quiet enough up until now. "And that I'm a fool." 

"I can't think it's hopeless; we need him. And you aren't a fool." Eight sat beside her at the table, his chair nearly touching hers, and set two cups of tea on the polished wood. She didn't look at him, or at the cups, her gaze remaining steady on her clasped hands. "It's hard to think of him as the enemy. I know that."

"I thought I'd finally reached him, that he was finally starting to come back."

"I'm sure that's how he planned it, too." He slid one of the cups closer; she continued to ignore it. "It's not your fault, Jess."

"If I'd had the key, and he'd kept talking, I probably would have let him go, you know."

Eight put an arm around her; she pressed her face into his shoulder, and he could feel tears soaking through his shirt. She cried silently, and he wrapped his arms tight around her and waited.

Finally, she pulled away; Eight once again nudged the teacup in her direction. This time, she wrapped her hands around it, though she made no move to drink. "It's not your fault," he said again. "It's hard to remember he isn't really Angelo right now."

"How will we know when he is?"

"I wish I knew. I guess if his magic comes back, we could trust that; he's not likely to relearn any spells where he is now."

Jessica nodded.

"Are you going to be okay?"

"When we have him back."

"And _until_ we have him back?"

She bowed her head. "I'll have to be, won't I?"

* * *

_After his impulsive attempt to escape, the woman didn't come back. He didn't blame her; she feared him, as she should have feared him from the beginning._

_He found he missed her presence, the sincerity with which she spun her tales of travels and adventures they'd supposedly shared. Oddly, what he missed most were the glimpses he'd gotten only in those last few hours, when she smiled and laughed and spoke with such animation that he'd forgotten she was his enemy._

_Alone, his mind conjured up ghosts from a past he didn't have._

_And at night, he began to dream._


	6. Lost Dreams and Memories

"May I see her?"

"No," Eight said reflexively; there was no way he was letting Angelo anywhere near Jessica.

"Please. Not alone; I don't even need to talk to her. I just want to see her."

Angelo hadn't spoken to him or Yangus at all, not even when they'd pinned him down and added the weights to his shackles; the quiet persistence took Eight by surprise. "Why?" he asked, sliding the dinner tray near enough for Angelo to catch the edge and draw it toward him.

"I just..." Angelo's voice faltered. "I want to know she's all right."

"She's alive in spite of you. That's all you need to know."

Angelo looked, for just a moment, like he wanted to say something else, then he fell silent, his attention on the stew and bread Eight had brought him. Eight felt a twinge of guilt, made worse because he knew how badly Jessica wanted to see Angelo.

Grimly, he reminded himself of the panic he'd felt when spell after spell failed, while time and his magic trickled away. He'd lost track of how many attempts it had taken to bring her back, while her skin grew cold and stiff beneath his hands, and every failure, every minute, made the odds against him worse.

No, he would not be allowing Angelo near Jessica any time soon.

He turned toward the door, and Angelo tried one last time. "Will you at least tell her I'm sorry?"

He sounded sincere, and Eight was glad his back was to Angelo, that the other man couldn't see how badly Eight wanted to believe his sincerity, how easily they were manipulated.

"I'd tell her if I believed you meant it," he said finally. He lifted the lamp from its hook and walked out the door, leaving Angelo in darkness.

* * *

_It took him long minutes to remember how to put on the uniform, but finally he was dressed. The heavy fabric, boots and gloves, felt... almost right._

_"Come here."_

_He obeyed, his body awkward with the memory of the pain so recently healed away, and knelt at the foot of the throne. An archdemon brought out a sword. Light spilled from the curved blade, and the moment he saw it, he knew **that** was what he was missing._

_"Do you swear loyalty to me?"_

_"I do." His voice was still raw from the hours he'd spent screaming._

_"Take the sword."_

* * *

"What harm could it do for me to just see him?" Jessica asked. 

"I don't know." Eight already regretted mentioning Angelo's request, but he had needed to talk to someone. It had been days since Empyrea had brought them the sceptre; every day he could feel Rhapthorne's power growing, could see the darkness in the sky spreading, and he was no closer to knowing how to get Angelo back in time to stop that darkness from extending to the entire world.

"He's not a threat if he can't reach me," she continued patiently, "and his bonds don't let him anywhere near the door."

"I know," Eight said, and didn't mention the chains had been shortened and weighted since Angelo's attack on her.

"I'm not stupid enough to go near him again."

"I know you aren't." _And I wouldn't let you be alone with him anyway._

"Then why..."

"I don't trust him." _You, of all people, should understand why,_ he thought, but didn't bother to say. He was glad Jessica seemed to have recovered from the attack, but he wished she was more rational about Angelo. "He's the enemy as long as Rhapthorne's power over him holds."

"Do you think we're going to change that by locking him up and leaving him alone for days on end? You know we need him, and you know I have the best chance of reaching him, or you wouldn't have said anything." Jessica shook her head. "I'm not giving up on him. I can't." And her eyes asked, _How can you?_

Eight looked away, because he didn't have an answer.

* * *

_Light flared the moment he touched the sword; he closed his eyes, half turned away._

_"Do you know this weapon?"_

_He could not summon even the ghost of a memory. "No, my Lord."_

_"It is unique. Made for you." Rhapthorne's hand curled around his. "And now, it shall be bound to you, as you are bound to me."_

_Rhapthorne slid their hands along the blade. Blood welled and mingled, dimming the light, revealing the steel beneath._

_In the space between one breath and the next, light became darkness, spilling like smoke._

_"Now, my knight, take up the Shamshir of Shadow."_

* * *

"I'm not giving up on him. I'm just out of ideas." He caught her hand, squeezed so she would know he didn't blame her. "I don't want to give him any more information than he already has." 

"We aren't going to get him back without giving him _something _to replace what Rhapthorne stole."

"But you can't make him care by telling him all the reasons he used to. Especially," and it hurt to say the words, as much as it would hurt her to hear them, "when he's proven he'll use those things against us."

Jessica turned away, pulling her hand free. "Until you have a better idea, I owe it to him to try to reach him."

"No," Eight said, then amended hastily, "At least, not tonight. He's probably already asleep. Besides, maybe by morning I'll have come up with that better idea."

Jessica didn't look at him, but she was moving in the direction of her cabin, not the storeroom they had pressed into service as a cell, so he didn't try to stop her. "I wish to the Goddess someone would," she said bitterly.

He closed his eyes, leaned his forehead against the rough wall, and wished the same thing.

* * *

_The Shamshir felt right in his hand, balanced so it was nearly weightless, the hilt curved perfectly against his palm. It sang as he tested a few strokes against the air._

_"I think," Rhapthorne said, "that you should give it a real test."_

_He stilled, turned, saw the Lord of Darkness look at the oblivious archdemon and give a slight nod. Obediently, the blade flashed out again; the poor creature had no time for more than a startled grunt before blood was flowing freely from its slit throat._

_He reversed the stroke, gutting the dark haired leader - no, he remembered this, remembered opening the archdemon from shoulder to hip, watching it collapse while Rhapthorne applauded - but this was now, it was happening, not something that had already happened._

_"Well done, my knight."_

_He looked away from the body sprawled at his feet, disturbed rather than pleased by the death of his foe._

_Something was wrong with the floor, with the steps leading to the throne. He blinked, trying to clear his vision._

_Pieces of the fat man were scattered around the base of the throne; he had done that, must have done it, but when? And why such butchery, rather than a clean death?_

_Feeling ill from the blood soaking the floor and his uniform, he looked up._

_Dark energy pulsed around Rhapthorne, nearly concealing that the Dark Lord was growing, changing shape. For a moment, it did conceal the staff he held, so that at first he didn't realize the glowing orb had been replaced._

_Then a flash of red caught his attention, and he looked up, straight into the eyes of the head now adorning Rhapthorne's staff._

He woke himself with his screaming, and at first, in the pitch blackness, he couldn't be sure he was awake. Then the door slammed open, and the light that filtered in silhouetted Yangus, holding his axe and demanding to know what was going on.

Angelo dropped his head to his arms and sobbed.

* * *

The screams began before she was halfway to her cabin. Jessica turned, ice running down her spine, no doubt in her mind that the sound was coming from Angelo. Angelo, who was in a cell, chained, guarded by Yangus, who would surely never do anything to inspire such sounds without provocation. 

_Rhapthorne,_ she thought, starting toward the stairs to the deck. Ahead of her, she could hear boots on wood, as Eight hurried in the same direction. _Goddess, if he's sent something after Angelo..._

The sound of wood striking wood echoed down the corridor, and the screaming abruptly stopped.

Jessica ran.

* * *

The cell door was open, and Yangus nowhere visible in the light spilling from the oil lamp. Eight swore, reaching for the sword on his back. _If that bastard's done anything to Yangus..._

"Is that you, guv?"

Eight nearly ran into Yangus in the doorway. "What happened?" he asked, releasing his sword.

"I don't know. I figgered he was asleep, but the next thing I know he's screamin' like. I about bust the door down, comin' t' see wot's wrong, an' he gives me a look like he's expectin' me to finish 'im off and starts cryin'." He looked a bit defensive as he added, "I di'n't touch 'im none, though."

"Well is he all right?" Jessica pushed past them both; Eight heard her gasp as she caught sight of Angelo, curled on the floor and weeping.

Eight caught her arm. "Jessica, don't."

"I should hope the two of you would be a match for him," she snapped, and pulled free to go to Angelo.

Eight followed, not quite close enough to hear what she said when she knelt by Angelo's side and spoke to him, but close enough to hear Angelo whimper her name.

"I'm here," she said. "It's all right, I'm here."

Angelo jerked upright so quickly that Eight moved to intervene, and Jessica pulled back, a fireball springing to life in her hand. Angelo stared at the flames for a moment, then his gaze moved to Jessica's face.

"Goddess," he whispered. "Dear Goddess, I actually...Jessica, I..." He started to reach for her, chains scraping across the floor, then buried his face in his hands with a moan.

The spell vanished, and Jessica pulled him into her arms, heedless of the lengths of chain and metal which hung from his wrists and struck her when he reached out to cling to her. For a long time, they stayed like that, Angelo sobbing brokenly and Jessica whispering things Eight couldn't hear. Once or twice, Angelo shook his head; Eight couldn't tell if it was in answer to something Jessica said, or in response to the things he'd done under Rhapthorne's control, and then wondered when he'd decided this wasn't an elaborate trick.

"Let him go," Jessica said at length.

"Jess, we can't..."

"Let him go, or I'm going to blow a hole in the wall he's chained to."

Eight shook his head, but when Jessica released Angelo he knelt, moved the makeshift weights out of the way, and fit the magic key into the locks securing Angelo's bonds. It was the first time he'd really _looked_ at Angelo since he and Yangus had added the weights; the bruises and blood on Angelo's arms embarrassed him, as did the time it took to remove everything. Through it all, Angelo stayed motionless on his knees, as if expecting any movement to be interpreted as an attack.

Eight finally finished and climbed to his feet, shoving the chains out of easy reach with his boot. He thought he was ready for anything, but he was utterly unprepared when Angelo collapsed silently forward into Jessica's arms.


	7. Whispers Echo

Jessica could tell Eight was expecting a repetition of what had happened when they first brought Angelo back to the ship, or of his attack on her, but from the moment Angelo had spoken her name - the moment she realized she hadn't heard her name on his lips since he'd been rescued - she had known Eight's fears were unfounded. Her certainty was borne out when the shackles with their weights and chains were removed one by one, and Angelo merely sank heavily against her, as if the last of his strength had fled.

She held him tightly until his shaking eased, her cheek resting against his hair. It was dull and tangled; she combed her fingers through it regardless, then said, "Everything's going to be all right, now."

He shook his head, pulling back enough to look at her, eyes red and expression raw.

"Jess," he whispered, reaching out and, this time, not flinching back, his fingers skimming lightly over her throat as if he expected to find some evidence of what he'd done. "I'm sorry. I didn't…I couldn't…I didn't plan it. I wasn't trying to trick you."

His hands were bruised, his wrists chafed bloody, so that Jessica only dared the lightest touch against his fingers. "It's all right."

"You were just there," he blurted. "And I realized I might never get another chance to return to my Lord…"

He broke off, pulled away from her completely, and this time it was Eight who caught him, his hands tight on Angelo's shoulders. "You did what he made you think you had to do," Eight said. "It wasn't your choice."

"And can you trust anything is my choice now?"

"If we didn't, you wouldn't be free."

Jessica moved close enough to gently capture his hands. "You were different under his control. You wouldn't even call us by name."

"Of course not. You aren't…"

"What?"

Angelo closed his eyes and sagged back against Eight. "Worthy. Of names, of any kind of recognition." He bowed his head, tangled hair obscuring his expression. "How could I...how can I _think _any of that? How could I believe it?"

He sounded so wretched and exhausted that Jessica ached for him. "Come on," she said. "I don't think you need to spend any longer down here."

"No. I think…I think we'd all feel better if I remained under guard."

Jessica looked up at Eight, silently entreating him for help. He nodded a little and said, "One of us can stay with you, if you like; it's probably a good idea, just in case Rhapthorne can tell that his magic failed." He shifted his grip and began pulling Angelo to his feet. "But not down here."

Angelo didn't protest being escorted from the store room, though part of him wanted to refuse, to demand the shackles be replaced. It would be wiser, he knew, with the ghosts of alien thoughts still flitting around the edges of his mind, but the lure of fresh air and companionship - the lure of being himself again - won out.

Once he was up and moving, free of the chains, he realized just how much his body ached from dragging them around all those…days? Weeks? He wasn't certain; the time he'd spent under Rhapthorne's control was already going hazy and dreamlike.

With the horrific exception of what he most wanted to forget.

He rested a hand in the center of Jessica's back, unable to resist the need to simply feel her breathe. She looked up at him; he found he couldn't meet her eyes. He felt her inhale, heard the catch of her voice as she cut herself off almost before she began to speak, then to his surprise she shifted closer, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Movement to his left as Eight stepped closer, the obvious reminder that he was still under guard sending a stab of resentment through him. Then Eight's hand settled on his shoulder, not the touch of a jailer, but of a friend, and he was ashamed of his suspicions.

"I sent Yangus ahead to fill the bath," Eight said, his voice strained and awkward. "I thought it might…help."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry. I did…"

"You did what you had to. I know that," Angelo said; bracketed between the two of them, he almost believed his own words.

Angelo's fingers rubbed at his right wrist, as if it ached. "Should I ask Eight to make sure you're completely healed?"

He started, as if he'd forgotten she was there, looked at her, and then back down at his hands. "No. It doesn't really hurt." He was silent a moment. "Breaking Rhapthorne's control has just…brought back some things I'd rather have left forgotten."

Another silence, this one long enough that Jessica was wondering if she should break it by the time Angelo murmured, "I was almost twelve, finally old enough to be considered for training as a Templar. Of course, I'd been hounding everyone who wasn't afraid of Marcello for months, trying to learn enough swordwork to impress the captain, and I was…well, not good, but I wasn't going to embarrass myself.

"Two days before my birthday, Marcello caught me practicing. He goaded me into attacking him, and he had me disarmed the moment our blades met." Angelo fell silent again, and Jessica saw that his left hand had tightened around his wrist. "I was half his size, but I still took a swing at him. He caught my hand and snapped my wrist as easily as he'd taken my sword. Said it was proof I'd never be fit to serve as a Templar."

"Didn't anyone _do_ anything?" Jessica asked, aghast.

"I didn't tell anyone. I hid the injury, terrified that if I went to the healers, the captain would find out about it." He looked up with a bitter smile. "Seemed a brilliant plan, until I realized I couldn't so much as close my fingers around a sword, much less pick one up."

"So you fought left handed," Jessica guessed, and in spite of everything couldn't resist a smile at having another small piece of his past.

"And it turned out that I fought better with my left hand than my right, just like I did everything else. After, I was soundly chewed out for not going to the healers when I first hurt myself, and by the end of the day I was good as new. I'm not even sure why it bothered me." He shrugged, his gaze dropping again. "It was just so utterly unnecessary. But then, Marcello seemed to think my existence was provocation enough."

Jessica wanted to put her arms around him, but settled for covering his hand with hers. "I'm sorry."

"So many little things I hadn't thought about in years. It's just a bit overwhelming, on top of everything else."

She could tell from his bleak expression that there was more, but not whether it was those unwanted pieces of his past, or what Rhapthorne had done to him.

"Are you all right?" Jessica asked. "Do you need to sleep?"

Angelo shook his head. The last thing he wanted was to sleep, not when simply closing his eyes was enough to call up the images from his nightmare, when it was so easy to slip back into the thought patterns Rhapthorne had given him.

"Will you talk to me, then?"

He forced a smile. "I suppose it's only fair, given all the hours you spent talking to me over the past week."

"I told you, there was nowhere else I _could_ have been."

"And to be honest, that makes less sense to me _now_ than when you first said it."

Her eyes narrowed in irritation. "Everything that's happened, happened because we were willing to let you go without a fight. How do you think that made me feel?"

"Ah, guilt." He was surprised by the bitterness overflowing in his voice. "Yes, I've heard that can be an excellent motivator for some people."

"Angelo, it wasn't guilt that made me want you back." She covered his hand with both of hers. "It was realizing I never want to let you go again."

He stared at her, vaguely aware that he ought to say something, put up a barrier against hope, because her words couldn't mean what he wanted them to mean. But he had nothing, save her name and a trio of words too dangerous to speak, and after a moment her mouth covered his and rescued him from the need to say anything at all.

He awoke the next morning curled around her, and for a moment he simply reveled that she was there, real, _his._ Then he moved, pressed kisses against the back of her neck and along the line of her shoulder until she sighed and shifted, rolling onto her back to regard him with fond annoyance.

"You know, when I said I'd feel safer under guard, I didn't realize the guard was going to be quite so personal."

Jessica rolled her eyes. "Well, you're back to normal."

"So it would seem."

She surprised him by smiling. "I'm glad."

He smiled back and kissed her again, simply because he could.


End file.
